


On Brooding Wings

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 02:50:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17799728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: 7. Frank Iero/Mikey Way, vampires





	On Brooding Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my bata themoononastick, you were as amazing as always. <3
> 
> And thank you to the no_tags mods. You're great <3
> 
> This story contains descriptions of vomiting and mentions of an eating disorder.
> 
> If you need more detail see the notes at the end of the story.

“I’m a vampire.” Frank stands in the bathroom, toothbrush clutched in his hand and the taste of mint on his fangs as he repeats the words, slower this time, trying to add some conviction. “I’m a vampire”

“Frank, honey. Dinner is ready.”

Frank sighs and gives his toothbrush a rinse, watching foamy water spiral in the sink as he runs his tongue over his fangs: sharp and fully extended.

But fangs that he’ll retract and keep hidden as soon as he leaves the safety of home.

“Fuck.” Frustrated, Frank would kick the nearest hard surface if it wouldn’t make his mom mad. “Fuck this and fuck being a vampire.”

“Frank!” His mom yells, and Frank sniffs, taking in the scent of dinner. “If you don’t hurry up it’ll get cold.”

“Coming,” Frank shouts in reply, retracting his fangs as he digs his phone out of his pants pocket. Flipping it open he reads the latest text from Mikey, and smiles as he sends a quick reply.

_Eating, c u ltr_

And smiles wider when Mikey responds in seconds with a simple _k_.

~*~*~*~

The thing is, Frank doesn’t know what it’s like _not_ to be a vampire. Fact is, he was born this way, which sounds weird if you’re basing your knowledge on storybooks and those bullshit legends. Seriously, fuck Dracula and his brooding blood-sucking ways, if it wasn’t for him Frank’s life would be a thousand times easier.

As it is, it’s not easy at all.

Especially when he can’t tell his friends what he actually is.

~*~*~*~

Already the club is starting to get busy, but it takes Frank all of a few seconds to find Mikey.

“Frank, hi!”

Mikey’s smiling, wide and unguarded which means he’s already got more than a few drinks under his belt. Not that Frank cares, he likes Mikey like this, when he’s just that bit more handsy and leans in to talk, stupid hair scratching Frank’s face and his breath a mix of beer and coffee.

“Mikey Way,” Frank says in reply, focussing on the feel of Mikey’s hand on his hip. “You’ve started without me.”

“I did,” Mikey says, solemn now as he indicates the assorted scene people that are already crammed into the small space. “I had people to see and business to sort out.”

“Course you did.” Frank inhales discreetly, scenting alcohol and salty sweat, musk mixed with perfume and the distinct smell of damp and cold brick. “And have you been doing that in the back alley?”

Mikey laughs, moves his hand so he can rest his arm over Frank’s shoulder and pull him into a hug that’s all clinging arms and full body contact. “Would I do that? But yeah, some. You know how it is.”

And the thing is, Frank does. He knows Mikey enjoys his hook-ups with no guilt whatsoever, and Frank’s glad about that -- he is. It’s just. Frank’s jealous. 

Which is stupid because no matter what he wants or hopes, Frank can never make a move. 

How can he?

~*~*~*~

“So, how’s it going?” Ray asks. He’s carrying two bags and got something that’s soft and bundled-up tucked under his arm. Seeing Frank’s look he says, “It’s a blanket, think of it as a housewarming gift.”

“It’s yellow.” Frank takes hold of the blanket and tugs, enjoying the feel of the brushed cotton fabric. Unfurling the blanket, he drapes it over his shoulders like a cape -- seriously, fuck Dracula, Frank doesn’t need black satin, he can make yellow brushed cotton work, and kicks the door closed behind Ray. “It’s great, thank you, and it’s going good.”

“Yeah?” Ray sounds dubious and Frank doesn’t blame him considering the apartment looks like an explosion in a biohazard lab, which is impressive seeing as Frank and Mikey have been living together for less than a week. 

“Yeah,” Frank agrees, and it’s the truth. While living with Mikey has been a bit of a shock in some ways, mostly it’s great. Frank loves that they can sit together for hours and watch shitty TV and that he can take a deep breath and scent Mikey -- though truthfully, even a human would probably be able to do that. He loves lying in his bed at night and listening to Mikey sleep, the way he snuffles and murmurs, and especially loves listening to him jerking off. Which okay, is creepy and wrong, but Frank has to uphold the creepy vampire stereotype sometimes.

What he doesn’t like is the constant stomach aches and feeling so weak. Frank’s been spoiled at home with his mom regularly providing warm synthed blood and not raising an eyebrow when she finds Frank warming up a pint at the end of the night.

Now Frank’s having to feed himself solo, and the supply he’s got hidden in his room isn’t cutting it. It doesn’t help that he shares food with Mikey, who keeps being considerate and bringing home veggie pizzas that make feel Frank sick to the stomach after he’s eaten a few slices.

“You look pale, are you eating enough?” Ray assesses Frank, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying. It’s hard when you first start living alone.”

“Yes, mom,” Frank says, the blanket trailing behind him as he moves past Ray to the kitchen where he throws open the fridge door, displaying at least five pizza boxes of varying ages and a carton of ancient ramen. “We’re eating, Mikey’s got coffee. We’re all good.”

Ray sighs and pushes aside a stack of dirty mugs so he can put the bags on the counter. “You can’t survive on pizza alone. I’ve brought you some lasagna. Mom made it.”

“Awesome.” Frank grins, clutching the blanket close as he leans against the door, watching as Ray stares at the full sink. “I’d offer you a drink, but you know….”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ray says, turning on the faucet and gingerly pushing his hand into the mess of dishes, plates and cutlery. “I assume the sponge is right at the bottom again.”

“Probably.” Frank tilts his head to the side, focussing when he hears a slight sound from Mikey’s room. It’s nothing but the briefest sigh of sound, Mikey shifting slightly, the smell of musty covers moving and sweat-warm skin. Frank takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Instantly, Frank looks at Ray, seeing his concern as he stands with his hand shoved deep into the teetering pile. “I’m fine. Just tired. I think I can hear Mikey waking up.”

It’s an obvious deflection, but one Ray allows to slip by as he simply says, “Guess I’d better hurry up and wash some mugs then.”

Frank pushes himself up off of the wall, nods at Ray and goes to switch on the coffee machine that’s already filled and waiting.

~*~*~*~

Head over the toilet, Frank spits and coughs, chewed bits of pasta and vegetables floating in the bowl. While he can tolerate human food at the time, and sometimes even enjoys the taste, it never stays down. At least lasagna comes up relatively easily, unlike the pizza that makes Frank’s throat ache and the time he ended up vomiting noodles so hard they came out of his nose.

It’s one of the biggest downsides of being a vampire; that by trying so hard to fit in, Frank hurts himself over and over.

Of course, it doesn’t have to be like that -- but the fact remains. Frank still can’t find the words to say, ‘Hey, Mikey, I’m a vampire’. And if that means having to have a stomach that feels constantly inflamed and hunching over a toilet each night, that’s what he’ll keep doing.

~*~*~*~

While this party was technically a joint idea, Frank doesn’t know most of the people crammed into their apartment. Not that it matters, Frank’s a friendly guy -- vampire -- and has no hesitation in talking to strangers. Like now, when he’s sitting on the back of the sofa, trying not to fall on Otter who’s bagged the actual seat and is making out with some girl from Mikey’s work. 

Mikey himself is lost in the crush of bodies, but Frank’s aware that he’s close, can sense him each time he takes in a breath.

“I go there every weekend, the _Starland_ , you know, if you ever want to meet-up.” The woman talking waits for a beat, waiting for Frank to respond, when he doesn’t, she laughs and holds up her hands. “Or not. It’s okay.”

“No, sorry. I was distracted.” It’s a genuine apology, Frank’s enjoying talking to Lydia and the way she obviously loves music and normally he won’t hesitate in accepting the offer to meet-up. Tonight though, it doesn’t feel right, just another potential complication to his life, and Frank looks around again, checking for Mikey.

“Well, if you change your mind.” Lydia leans in, kissing Frank’s cheek before leaving, pushing into the mass of bodies blocking the kitchen door. 

Almost instantly, Gerard takes her place, stepping between Frank’s spread legs and offering him a drink from a plastic cup. “She was into you.”

“I know,” Frank agrees, accepting the cup. Taking a sip he grimaces, resisting the urge to spit out the mouthful of whatever he’s just tasted. “What the hell is that? It takes like feet and warm piss.”

“No idea,” Gerard says, taking back the cup and taking a long drink. “I mixed up the remains of the bottles in the kitchen.”

Frank grimaces again, and can almost feel his fangs retreat further up into his mouth. “Jesus, how are you even alive?”

Gerard grins and lets himself fall forward, his forehead against Frank’s. “Practice.”

“Yeah, well, practice less,” Frank says, and while he should recoil from the stench of alcohol, sweat and ink that’s Gerard, instead he feels comfortable, relaxed even as he tries to sense Mikey.

“You should make a move.” Gerard’s still resting his forehead against Frank’s, and each word comes along with a hot brush of breath. “I know you’re looking for him.”

Instantly, Frank pulls back, heart racing at the suspicion that somehow Gerard _knows_. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You like him, Mikey I mean,” Gerard says, taking no offense to Frank’s sudden jerk back. “I watch him, and that means I watch you, and I know that you like him. He likes you, too.”

“Of course I do, we’re friends.” Agitated, Frank slides to the floor, needing to move. “I don’t want to make a move. It’s not like that”

For a long moment Gerard doesn’t move, just keeps Frank pinned in place, and then steps back as he says simply, “Yeah it is, and you do.”

Frank doesn’t reply.

~*~*~*~

The thing is, sometimes it can be easy. Frank’s heard stories about vampire and human relationships that actually work. Yeah, most don’t, how can they when you’ll outlive your partner by thousands of years? But some do, and it’s those Frank tries to remember.

It doesn’t help.

Frank’s sure that his friends won’t cast him away if he tells all. Hell, it’ll probably make the Way’s year to find out vampires are real, and Ray will accept Frank unconditionally, Otter too, though, Frank suspects that his full acceptance will take time.

He’s still scared. Admitting who he is -- what he is -- is huge, and Frank’s not ready. Not yet.

But hopefully, soon.

~*~*~*~

 

“I’ve brought you some water.”

On his knees in front of the toilet, Frank looks up and drags the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away bile. He feels wrung out and unsteady, his stomach aching and throat sore. Swaying a little he braces himself against the seat and flushes away the final remains of last night’s chewed-up pizza. 

Frank reaches out, grasping the mug filled with water and takes a sip. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay,” Mikey says, and Frank expects him to leave, to go and cast off his work clothes, his coat on the back of a chair, bag left on the ground for Frank to trip over. That he’ll reappear after half an hour, wearing old sweat pants that ride down his hips and holding a mug of coffee that he’ll offer to share with Frank. It’s just what Mikey does, expect tonight he doesn’t, just stands staring at Frank. 

“Do you have a problem?” Mikey sounds nervous, the words rushed out and hands clenched into fists as he adds, “It’s just. You’re sick a lot, every night after we’ve been eating and then now, if there is something wrong, it’s okay. We can fix it.”

It takes Frank a stupidly long time to catch Mikey’s meaning, and when he does, wants to sink through the floor. “No, it’s not that. It’s not….” Frank trails off, shame burning through his body, and if he had enough blood to spare, he knows his face would be bright red. Because, this was the last thing Frank expected, that as much as he’s been watching Mikey, Mikey’s been watching him right back in return. 

“I know some people who could help,” Mikey says, but as awkward as he looks, all tension and jagged lines, his compassion is obvious as he takes a step forward and rests his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “You don’t have to keep hurting yourself like this.”

“I’m not. It’s not like that,” Frank says, focussing on the feel of Mikey’s hand before he jumps to his feet. “I’m okay, I promise.”

And Frank runs.

~*~*~*~

Being at home for a night is good, but also sucks -- big time.

Frank gets to gorge himself on warmed up synth blood as his mom fusses and clicks her tongue. Says nothing as Frank curls up on the couch and remembers to breathe. Not that he has to, being a vampire and all. But sometimes the motion of pulling in a breath and letting it out helps, over and over and over, until finally, Frank can open his eyes and say, “Mom, I’ve got a problem.”

And she sits by his side, hands over another warm bottle of synth blood and prepares to listen.

~*~*~*~

Frank’s knows where Mikey is as soon as he gets home. Before he gets home, really. It’s why he makes no attempt to look in the living area, or knock on Mikey’s bedroom door, just goes straight to the window that leads to the fire escape and climbs outside.

Mikey’s sitting on the crate they leave out there, an empty mug at his feet and a cracked bowl filled with cigarette ends close-by. He’s also a picture of misery, not even looking at his phone that’s lit up and left on his lap.

“My mom says I’m an idiot,” Frank says, lightly dropping down onto the landing. Considering, he looks at Mikey, wanting nothing more than to get close, to drop to his knees for a hug and say sorry, but Frank can’t. He needs to deal with this now, while his mom’s words, warnings and encouragement still fill his head, and mostly, before Frank loses his nerve. “I don’t have an eating disorder.”

Mikey jerks a little at that, and Frank can hear his heart beat speed up as he stares over at Frank, obviously suspecting a lie. “You’re always throwing up. I hear you, and you look like shit. If living with me isn’t working for you….”

“No. It’s not that.” Frank hadn’t expected that at all, that somehow Mikey would think this is in anyway his fault. “I’m a vampire.”

It’s not how Frank prepared from this confession. He’d talked to his mom for hours, talked through his fears and potential ways to confess what he actually is, but none of them included blurting out the truth. Half-expecting Mikey to stand and walk away, Frank forces himself to stay still, the synth blood he’d just downed an hour before churning in his stomach.

“You’re a vampire?” Mikey repeats, and he’s looking at Frank, taking him in from head to toe. “That explains a lot.”

“What?” Thrown, Frank stares, because while he never really expected Mikey to cast him away, he also never expected acceptance to happen so easy. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m a vampire. I drink blood. Well, synth blood.”

Mikey considers a moment, never looking away from Frank’s face. “Are you going to attack me in my sleep and drain all my blood?”

“Fuck, what, no. I don’t do that shit,” And really, Frank hates Dracula for encouraging all this blood-sucking bullshit. “I don’t drain anything or anyone. Vegetarian, remember.”

“You’re a vegetarian vampire,” Mikey says, and smiles as he stretches his leg so he can tap Frank’s foot. “Cool.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Frank wants to move, to bleed some energy but he’s constrained by the fire escape, so all he can do is bounce on the balls of his feet. “You don’t want to bring out the pitchforks?”

“Do I look like I own a pitchfork?” Mikey says, indicating his own body. “But if you like I can go and get a fork and poke you with it. I think there’s one in my bed.”

“Why have you got a fork in your bed?” Frank asks, then answers himself, because really, that doesn’t matter right now. “Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. I’m a vampire, Mikey.”

“You’ve said that,” Mikey points out, and shuffles over, leaving a thin slice of the crate for Frank to sit down. “You also said you weren’t going to eat me, or anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Frank says, and despite feeling off kilter, sits next to Mikey, holding himself stiff until Mikey leans close, so they’re touching from shoulder to hip. For a long time they’re both silent, Frank picking through what has just happened. “You’re really okay with this?”

Mikey doesn’t reply at first, and Frank’s starting to worry, that the whole situation is starting to sink in. Then he shakes his head and says, “I’m not okay with you making yourself sick, but the vampire part? Sure.”

“I had synth blood,” Frank points out, but doesn’t admit that mostly he drank it cold, and never enough, too afraid of it spoiling in the locked crate he kept in his room. “I didn’t want you to see me drinking it, though.”

“You should have told me,” Mikey says, moving his arm so his hand rests on Frank’s thigh. “But I get it, some things are harder to share.”

“I wanted to,” and Frank did. Being a vampire is a huge part of his life, but sharing it with his friends, with Mikey, seemed too much of a risk. “I was scared.”

Mikey doesn’t speak at first, and Frank’s glad that he doesn’t reply with some kind of instant platitude, that Frank shouldn’t have been, that he never had reason to be scared, just nods and squeezes Frank’s thigh, then eventually says, “I’m glad you told me.”

“I’m glad too,” Frank says, and he is. It feels like a weight has been lifted away, and he rests his head against Mikey’s shoulder, relaxed for what feels like the first time in forever.

“So, a vampire.” A beat, Mikey obviously thinking of questions as he grins and says, “Tell me you can fly. Because that would be fucking awesome.”

“It would,” Frank agrees, but sadly he’ll have to say no, the same way he’ll have to say no to many other stupid ideas about vampires.

“Shame.” Mikey sighs and turns his head so he’s looking directly at Frank. “But you have fangs, right?”

“Oh, I have fangs,” Frank says with a grin, and lets them extend, loving the way Mikey’s eyes widen, but with curiosity not fear.

“Those are amazing,” Mikey says, and then, “They suit you.”

All Frank says is, “I know.”

~*~*~*~

It takes nearly a month for Frank and Mikey to end up in bed.

And it turns out, not having to breathe leads to Frank being the king of blowjobs.

Which is great. The same as being out to his friends is great, none of whom reject him, though it does take a while for Otter to stop wearing a cross and eating whole bulbs of garlic.

And for Gerard to stop asking questions.

And for Ray to stop offering to heat up some blood.

But yeah, Frank loves drinking warmed synth blood while watching a movie, Mikey curled up beside him, eating popcorn and pizza, letting Frank lick the taste from his fingers. 

Frank the vegetarian vampire, who has best friends, a boyfriend who loves him, and doesn’t sleep in a coffin, thank you very much.

Fuck Dracula anyway. Frank hates him.

**Author's Note:**

> In the story Frank, who is a vampire, vomits up food, there are brief descriptions of him vomiting, and him having stomach issues due to the vomiting.  
> Later in the story Mikey suspects Frank has an eating disorder and alludes to that.  
> Frank doesn't have an eating disorder, but it seems that way to Mikey. So please, don't read if that would be triggering.


End file.
